The War Boys
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: They were such close friends, before. But one cold day after playing in the snow in their preteen years made things different. Difficult. And hard to forget, as much as Dave tries. .:. AU. inspired by an IFC film. Dave/Kurt. warning: rated M for shotacon.
1. Preface

**A/N: PLEASE READ.**

**Okay, so, I found this independent film called, "The War Boys." And while I ended up not liking the plot very much, I ADORED the main gay pairing in it. Seriously, it had some of the absolute BEST intimate gay moments I've seen in a movie in a while, aside from "Brokeback Mountain." And while watching, I was amused by the fact that one of the main guy's names was David. Freaking **_**David.**_** You all know whom I thought of, right? And oddly, David's personality in the movie wasn't like our Dave; the other guy's was. **

**And there lies the idea for this fanfic.**

**This is going to be AU, taking place in Lima, Ohio, and still (lightly) involving Glee Club, but things will be pretty damn different otherwise, including ages and birthdays, but I'll try to keep the personalities relatively the same. You'll see. But this is a short one, about five chapters, so bear with me.**

**And for the record, I'm going to be borrowing a lot of themes from "The War Boys," since I really loved what happened in them. So I disclaim some of my creativity. XD**

**ALTHOUGH (AND THIS IS IMPORTANT), you should know that my brain goes to dark places sometimes, so this fanfic? Yeah, rated M. And involves curious pre-pubescent children (ages 11 and nearly-12) and adult-ish (ages 16 and nearly-17) "interaction." -But I figure this isn't as bad as Pandora's Box, since that involves, well, near-rape. :/**

**But if you're okay with all of that… Enjoy! **

**#will be ridiculed for this, I just know it#**

**

* * *

**

_Preface._

It was a cold winter day in January when it first happened.

He knows, because unlike Dave, Kurt chose to remember everything precisely how it happened.

They had been eleven years old, both of them. But Dave had been on the brink of turning twelve, his birthday a couple months away. They were friends. Best friends. They had been since they were seven, when they met on the playground at school near the end of first grade. They knew each other well. Kurt knew all of the foods Dave liked and hated. Dave knew all of the cartoons and movies Kurt liked to watch, and the ones he despised. They would finish each other's thoughts most times.

And on that particular day, they knew that the other boy was very, very cold.

Burt was out for the day, doing errands. He told Kurt that he'd let Dave's parents drop him off to play in the freshly fallen packing snow if they promised to come in to heat up after two hours of play. They had agreed. And then Kurt was shivering uncontrollably, and Dave was offering to make hot cocoa from a packet since he mom taught him how. Kurt agreed, and soon, they were bundled up on Kurt's couch, sipping cocoa and wrapped in the only blanket they could find.

Dave shifted uncomfortably, because sharing that blanket with Kurt was making him feel a bit too warm. He set down his empty mug and asked if they could turn on the television.

Kurt had shaken his head. "No," he told Dave, "I don't feel like it. I just want to warm up again. When I get feeling in my toes, then maybe we can."

The slightly older boy had nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Kurt scooted closer. "You're warm," he remarked quietly, his skinny body touching Dave's. Kurt wrapped the blankets tighter around them. "Do you care if I use you to get warm again?"

Dave peered over, finding nothing but flushed cheeks and a pink nose and big blue eyes looking hopefully at him. Dave poked Kurt's face. Just as he thought: where it's a patchy pink, it's numb with cold. But so very, very soft.

"Uh… I don't care," Dave replied, and to this day, he doesn't know _why_ he didn't care, because even years later when he repressed the following memories, he can still clearly recall how he had gotten squirmy inside and leaned in just a little bit closer.

Kurt had smiled. "Thanks," he said happily, and didn't hesitate to worm his way into Dave's side, tucking his head under Dave's chin, still round with baby fat.

Dave had blushed, but he had held his friend because he wanted Kurt to be warm, and he knew that it was what friends did: they helped each other, and despite what his mother sometimes told him, Dave knew that friends held each other.

But Kurt's hand, at the time, seemed not to know any boundaries in their friendship. It slid under Dave's shirt, the iciness of Kurt's fingers like snow on Dave's chest. He yelped, stiffening, but hadn't pulled away.

"Sorry," Kurt had muttered, "But you're really warm."

And Dave understood, so he nodded his head and gave Kurt more of the blanket. "It's okay. I don't care."

That encouraged Kurt, reassuring him that it was okay. "Good," he murmured, and moved to curl up against his friend's torso, his hands seeking refuge under Dave's shirt, flat against his chest. Dave's heart sped up, and an unfamiliar feeling tingled throughout his body.

Girls were yucky and had cooties. Everybody knew that. But just the week before that incident, Dave had asked his mother were babies came from. She told him it was a completely natural process, and since he was almost twelve and about to hit puberty, it was all right for him to know. And so she told him gently, using easy-to-comprehend words, and described things as simply as possible without grossing her son out entirely.

And one of those things she had mentioned was feeling tingly.

Dave sucked in a trembling breath, the coldness of Kurt's hands tensing his chest and speeding up his heart, and it was weird, because Dave was actually paying attention to how his best friend smelled: like stale cocoa, like winter air, like shampoo, like _boy._ And Dave liked it. And he liked how Kurt's face was on his shoulder, getting warmer and feeling so tender and _nice._

But Dave also knew that what he was feeling was wrong. When giving him "The Talk," his mother specifically stated at the end that God frowned upon boys being with boys and girls being with girls in the same way she described. She used nasty words that Dave thought sounded ugly and like curse words ("faggot" and "lesbo"), and Dave had felt tiny and scared.

But right then, he didn't feel that way. He felt nothing but good, fuzzy, happy things toward Kurt, and in retrospect, Dave thinks that is what compelled him to do what he did next.

Without thinking, Dave had said, "Kurt? Look at me," and he used one chubby hand to lift Kurt's chin and face him. Kurt peered up, opening his eyes and grinning minutely.

"Yeah, Dave? What is it?"

"I want to kiss you."

Kurt had made a funny face, pulling out of his friend's hands and sitting up, but not removing his hands from under Dave's shirt, because warmth was warmth.

Kurt always knew that he had been different. And he knew that he liked Dave. He liked him a whole lot, and thought that even though Dave got teased for being a chubbier kid, Dave felt cuddly to Kurt and Kurt liked how nice Dave was to him, since other kids said that Kurt was too thin and too weird and too loud. Even in grade school, they were outcasts. And once or twice a mean older kid from seventh or eight grade, the two grades above Dave and Kurt in their middle school, would call Kurt a foreign q-word that rhymed with 'sneer,' and oddly enough, 'sneer' is precisely the expression those bullies would make when they said it to Kurt.

But Kurt knew that Dave would always step in and shout, "Hey! That's dirty! Kurt's not any different than you!" And once, he punched a kid for saying it, and got in trouble, but in Kurt's eyes, that only made Dave all the more admirable.

And so at the time, all Kurt could think of to say was, "Then do it. It's okay."

Dave didn't need telling twice. He leaned in against this friend and mimicked how his parents did it: lips parted, puckered slightly, and touching the other pair of awaiting lips.

To the slightly older boy, Kurt felt like heaven. He was angelically soft and he was warmed by now, and as he pressed closer, his hands went up and pulled off Dave's shirt. Dave gasped as the sensation, but Kurt simply draped the blanket over them and leaned into his friend. Kurt kissed him again. "It's okay," he told Dave, "I only want to be warmer."

"Okay, but…" Dave mumbled, his face turning red, "Don't cross this line." And he drew an imaginary line across his own stomach, just below his belly button. "My privates are past that line, and I don't think it's still okay if you go there."

"Why would I go there?" Kurt muttered in response, his lips still so very close to Dave's mouth.

Dave wriggled. "I dunno. It's just something my mom said, about how things start with kissing and then end up… weird."

"'Things'?"

Dave shook his head, his face all too red. "Nevermind." And he had the urge to kiss Kurt again, so he did. He kissed him, trying to find out how to kiss, trying to make Kurt feel tingly, too, even though something in the back of Dave's head in his mother's voice was snapping at him, saying that he was a disgusting little boy that needed to get grounded for his actions.

But no one had to know.

Kurt didn't know what sex was, being too afraid to ask his dad and too timid to find out at school from an older kid, but he knew that sometimes touching himself felt nice, almost like a tickle mixed with a happy churn in his tummy. And while he kissed Dave over and over, experimenting with his lips and his tongue in ways he didn't know those pieces of him could work, but had seen before on TV.

"Dave," Kurt sighed, and he moved his tiny body to lie down next to his friend on the couch. He hugged him, but crossed his legs. "I feel weird."

Dave pressed closer, and then said quietly, "Maybe you're too hot, now. Here, let's get rid of your shirt, too."

Kurt had nodded, at the time thinking it perfectly reasonable. But with his shirt off and pressed skin-to-skin, chest-to-chest, where they faced one another… it only made it worse. Kurt tightened his thighs together, his knees buckling together as he scrunched himself up. He idly kissed at Dave's chest, not knowing why, but he liked how Dave's skin felt on his lips, smooth and warm, and as Kurt kissed his friend across the collarbones, he liked how Dave's skin got a little sticky from the saliva on Kurt's lips, and liked how Dave kept making stifled noises in the back of his throat.

"Are you okay?" Kurt murmured, looking up at his friend. The noises almost sounded like whimpers of pain.

Numbly, Dave nodded. He reached out under the blanket and glided his hand over Kurt's narrow shoulders and down his bony back, feeling the slight muscles and the goosebumps that dotted Kurt's flesh. Idly, Dave played connect-the-dots with the raised skin while leaning in to have another kiss, because he liked how Kurt tasted.

But Dave noticed that Kurt's lower body was leant away from his. As he kissed Kurt's chest like Kurt had done for him, he heard Kurt gasp, "Dave… something's… wrong. I feel… so weird…"

And Dave felt Kurt's hand dip down and cover his crotch, as if hiding it from Dave. And young Dave realized that oh crap, this was what his mom told him about, and what happened to Dave when Dave tried touching himself not quite a month before. And oh no, he wondered if it ached for Kurt the way it did when Dave tried to ignore it, and he wondered if he should help his friend, and he also wondered if white stuff would come out of Kurt, too, and –

"Tell me," Dave murmured, and Kurt looked up at him. "Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can fix it."

Kurt bit his bottom lip. "My… whole body. I'm shaking, can't you feel it? But I'm not cold anymore. I'm actually way too hot, but it feels comfy. And… something feels cramped, in my lower tummy…" He made a squeaking sound. "And_ this!_ It's not floppy like it should be! Dave, what's happening? You said your mom told you some grown-up stuff. Can you tell me if this is part of it?"

And even though Dave was in the sixth grade like Kurt, and even though he knew just a little bit more, he felt guilty for having to ruin Kurt's innocence by telling him that yes, getting hard like that was a grown-up thing, but he didn't have the heart to add that Kurt shouldn't feel that way when kissing another boy. But Dave was guilty of it too, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, so it is," Kurt murmured. He paused, blushing. "What do I do? Can I make it go away?"

Nibbling on his own lip, Dave had slowly nodded in reply. "Y-yeah… you can. But let me do it, since you've never tried before."

Kurt didn't say that he actually had touched himself before, but not when his body looked like _this._ "Okay. I trust you," Kurt whispered.

"Close your eyes," Dave said. "And pull down your pants a little."

Kurt hesitated, because it felt awkward and embarrassing to expose himself, but they were so close together lying on the couch that Kurt figured Dave couldn't peek anyway. So under the blanket he tugged his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs, and he gasped when his erection met the stale air between their bodies.

Kurt closed his eyes and grabbed Dave's scrawny biceps, fully trusting but nowhere near fully understanding what was going on.

"Now, Kurt, if I do this… you have to promise not to tell, okay? It's not… a normal thing."

"I know," the other murmured, his lips by Dave's ear. He felt Dave timidly touch him, and he flinched, curling inward a bit. "That… tickles," he breathed.

"That's because this is supposed to feel good," Dave replied with a blush. "My mom said that it feels best when you're with someone you like." And he started to curl his fingers around Kurt's member, and it felt strange in his hand – tender and warm, but perfectly stiff, and it was just the right shape to fit perfectly in the contours of Dave's palm. He inhaled through his nose, feeling himself cramp up, because the way Kurt was clinging to him and the small whimpers and pants he made in Dave's ear as Dave pumped his hand up and down was just… intoxicating and wonderful and beyond bizarre, but it also felt kinda _right._

"N-no wonder, th-then," Kurt stutters as he shook in Dave's gasp, his body reacting naturally, and his hips dully meeting Dave's ministrations. "Because… Dave, I-I… ah!… l-l-like you," he confessed, and buried his head against his best friend's shoulder. Dave's hand stilled, and Kurt trembled, his legs wrapping around Dave's and his body rubbing against Dave's hand on its own accord, just to help lessen the burning urges coursing through his slender, young body. "I know I sh-shouldn't, because you're my best friend, and I don't want to lose you… b-but we're doing this_, whatever_ this is, and… I really like it, and… I like you so much th-that I wouldn't let anybody else touch me, and… and…"

Dave understood, and to himself, he admitted that he felt the same way. His hand picked up its pace again, stroking and stroking, even curiously swirling around the head with his thumb, until Kurt suddenly gasped the loudest gasp Dave had ever heard, and out poured that strange white substance that got Dave's hand all sticky, but he knew he could always wash it.

In fact, as Kurt's grip loosened, Dave got up from the couch – feeling too chill without his shirt in the house, too cold without Kurt lying beside him – and washed his hands in the kitchen before returning to the couch, watching as Kurt yanked up his pants and gazed downward, seemingly mortified.

Dave's heart melted. He climbed back under the blanket and pulled his friend tightly to his chest. "Feeling better?" he murmured.

Kurt nodded, his hand coming up to grip Dave's sides. "A lot better. Everything feels normal, now. I feel sleepy, but comfy and warm. Thanks." He snuggled closer. Then, frightfully, he asked, "Dave… we'll still be friends after this, right? Even though you touched me like that? I feel like we did something naughty."

Technically they had. But Dave didn't want to tell Kurt that. So he swallowed his guilt and whispered back, "Yes, of course we'll still be friends. We'll always be friends. I… like you, too, Kurt."

And Kurt's head shot upward, his eyes staring into Dave's hazel ones, a shocked expression on his face that soon gave way to a blissful smile. "You do? Really?"

Dave smiled. "Yeah, of course, dummy. Why else would I touch you like that, or hold you like this?"

Kurt giggled. "That's true." He sighed and planted a small kiss on Dave's collarbone, since he didn't want to crane his neck to find the taller boy's lips. "I like this. This is nice. Let's always be like this, okay? Really close, so that I can feel you. Those seventh and eighth graders call you names, but I think you're perfect, Dave. You've always been this way, and I wouldn't want you to change."

Dave's heart fluttered in his chest, almost like a trapped canary in a cage. He felt his face grow warm again. "Th-thanks, Kurt. I think the same about you. I hate that word they call you; it's horrible, and not fair."

Kurt frowned. "What does it mean, again?"

Dave tensed. "My mom said it was a word people use when they know a boy who likes other boys."

"But then it should be fair, because I do like other boys. I like you, remember?" Kurt reminded, and really, if 'queer' meant that Kurt liked Dave, he was willing to be called it proudly, because at the moment, he felt like he wanted to shout to the whole world how much he loved his best friend.

"Yeah, but… you shouldn't let people know that. They might hurt you, Kurt, and I would be so mad and so sad if they hurt you."

"Oh," Kurt mumbled. "Well, okay then. I don't want to make you upset." And he shook his head, leaning in again. "But I want to help you, Dave. I can feel it, you know. You have the same problem I did."

Dave tensed again, because he didn't want to admit to that. He didn't want to say he was aroused because of hearing and seeing and feeling Kurt's reactions (the pants, the whimpers, the rosy haze across pale cheeks, the fluttering blue eyes; everything that made Kurt suddenly look so much prettier than any girl). He felt ashamed of himself for being so dirty when it came to his own friend. He shrugged. "It's nothing, really. Mine can wait. You don't need to do anything. Besides… that would be crossing the line, remember? The line I drew across my belly?"

"Yeah, but… I want you to feel good, too, Dave," Kurt whispered shyly. "Let me cross it just this once."

And somehow, Dave knew it would be wrong if he let Kurt do just that. It felt okay when Dave touched Kurt, but for Kurt to touch him back… it didn't seem right in Dave's eyes. He shook his head. "No, don't. It's okay, honest. I'll be fine. Let's get our shirts back on and watch a movie instead."

"Oh. All right."

And that had been the end of it.

It was a memory Kurt came to cherish, because between eighth grade and freshman year of high school, things went very, very wrong, and the memory became the only thing Kurt had left.

Dave met Azimio, an African American boy thicker than Dave and very, very homophobic. He despised and feared gays more than anything else, but he was on the junior, and later, the high school football team, and he got Dave into the in-crowd. And while Dave tried to preserve his friendship with Kurt, Azimio kept pulling them apart, saying that Kurt was a "disgusting faggot" who "ought to get beat," and Dave just didn't know what to do.

Because he liked being popular, but he liked Kurt more, and yet in the end… peer pressure won out over loyalty, because that happens sometimes; especially when his mother was jamming it down Dave's throat about how proud she was of him for making such wholesome, God-fearing and fag-hating friends, and how much his dad loved that Dave was going out for football, and partway through freshman year, hockey as well. His dad gave his silent, serious nod that always made Dave feel proud of himself, and with all of this combined, Dave slowly disappeared from Kurt's side.

Kurt was heartbroken, and he knew that Dave must have forgotten that January day when they touched and held each other like adults do. So at age fourteen, Kurt replaced Dave with a girl named Mercedes, and soon, met an Asian girl named Tina, and they became his best friends instead, and he told them how he liked boys, and they didn't mind, and he felt happy that at least two people were okay with him and wouldn't leave him.

And it was Tina and Mercedes who told Kurt that he should join glee club, and it was Tina and Mercedes who introduced him to Noah Puckerman, a jock with a bad rep but a kind heart, and even though Kurt's heart secretly ached for Dave, Puck offered his talents to Kurt since Puck swung both ways, and Kurt gave in, because he needed to erase the memory his mind never let him forget. But Puck got found out, and the other jocks decided to turn on the rebel and the glee club he loved so much as well as everyone else in the singing group, Kurt included. And Kurt watched with pained, teary eyes as Dave was among their ranks. And even though Dave never made eye contact or hurt or slushied Kurt, Kurt knew that Dave was still one of _them._

That's how the war started: the war between glee club and the jocks, the war between homophobes and people who could care less, and the war between David Karofsky and Kurt Hummel.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1._

Junior year.

The grade level and age itself is unsettling, Kurt thinks as he rolls into the junior parking lot in his car. Half of the year has gone by, and Kurt has his license because he's sixteen-going-on-seventeen, and the whole thing is so eerie that he can't help but wonder why he still goes to school here and why he still puts up with the same bullshit every day.

Kurt is a refined individual. He's above this. He dresses better, he speaks more eloquently, and he's so much of an outcast that he wonders when he ever actually belonged, if there even was a time.

His heart is stabbed with a pang of sorrow. Oh, right. He had felt like he belonged whenever he and Dave were together, all those years ago. He had almost forgotten that.

Sighing, Kurt makes his way out of his car and slams the door shut, locking it. He meets up with Rachel Berry, another girl from glee club, and chats idly with her as they enter the school. They're friends, too; in fact, Kurt only knows of a handful of guys he's friends with, and they're all glee members. Aside from them, every guy avoids him, and Kurt is left with only hanging with the girls.

All of the girls except Santana. Kurt finds her too slutty and bitchy to be his friend. And Rachel was too insane at first, but hey, he got used to her.

"So I heard that Karofsky got drunk at a party over winter break," Rachel gossips, but the way she gossips it's all very matter-of-fact and straightforward, speaking as if she knows more than she does. "And apparently he hit on some college guy at the party, and now none of the jocks are talking to him. It's odd, because he always makes fun of Puck, and yet he himself is secretly gay? I find that a hair too hypocritical for my liking." She shakes her head, her wavy brown hair bobbing. "And weren't you two friends before? I thought I remember you two playing together on the playground in elementary school."

Kurt glances away. "That was a long time ago."

"Yeah, but… Kurt, you're gay, and if he –"

"_Rachel,_" Kurt snaps, "Just close your mouth, m'kay? It doesn't need to be yapping on and on about this," he stressed, getting frustrated. "Karofsky hitting on one guy," he pretends not to feel jealous, "Doesn't make him gay. For all we know, the college frat boy was girlish-looking and Karofsky mistook him for some woman. It could be a coincidence, or even a mistake; maybe it wasn't Karofsky at all, but someone who looked like him who was hitting on another guy. Who knows? People overreact in this godforsaken town. We all need to learn to just let things be, like the hippies of the '60s."

Rachel frowns. "I guess so… It might be a coincidence, like you said, but I have my doubts."

Kurt doesn't know why he's defending Dave's sexuality when Kurt knows all too well how Dave truly feels. But he likens his protective nature to courtesy, giving Dave privacy and shielding his inner feelings because of their previous friendship, and because Kurt knows that Dave wouldn't want anybody to know, and Kurt can respect that, even though he disagrees with it and finds hiding in the closet far worse than facing the world and all of it's dumpster-tossing and slushying.

It isn't until the end of the day when Kurt is strolling down the hall after glee club, headed for his car, when the repercussions of his earlier discussion with Rachel come into play.

"Meep!" Kurt squeals as something catches hold of him and yanks him sideways in through a doorway. Judging by how his feet scuff against concrete and the scent of lingering body odor fills his nose, he knows that he's been dragged into the locker room. He turns to face his aggressor to find Dave standing there, still keeping a hold on Kurt's shirtsleeve.

Kurt quirks an eyebrow before wiping his face of his surprise and the smile that dares to touch his lips. He replaces both with a scowl and a sarcastic roll of his eyes. "About three full years without talking to me, and suddenly here you are? What do you want, Karofsky?"

Dave steps closer, looking intimidating and strong. "Shut your mouth, Hummel. This is all your fault."

"_My_ fault? What did I do? And what are you even talking about?"

Dave lets out a snarl before roaring, "Because of _you,_ I'm the way that I am, and because of _them,_ I have to hide it, and when I got drunk on accident, it all came pouring out! No one will talk to me now, and it's _all your fault_ because I didn't _ask _to like guys!"

Kurt shoves Dave away. "I didn't force you! I didn't make you gay, _David._ You were probably born that way, like I was, born _different._ Knowing me just helped you realize it, probably. Because I don't know if you even remember, since you act like you repressed it, but _you're the one who touched me_ when we were kids, you Neanderthal. So don't go blaming me for your slip-up now, because I'm not the one who did anything. Hate to break it to you, bud, but that one is all _you,"_ he spits back.

Dave clenches his teeth and turns to punch a locker, and Kurt winces slightly when he hears something crack around the sound of vibrating metal. Dave lets out a howl, stumbling back and holding his hand like bear that hurt its paw. "Fuck!"

Kurt snorts, "Now that wasn't very smart, was it?"

"Shut up and get the fuck out, Hummel! I don't want to be near you anymore. We're done here."

The soprano crosses his arms over his chest, jutting out a hip as he leans on one foot. "Clearly we're not! You just hurt yourself, and you need medical attention! So whether you like it or not, you have to come with me. I think the nurse is still in her office. Come on, dumbass." And he walks over and attempts to haul wounded Dave to his feet, but Dave breaks the contact.

"Don't _touch_ me," he hisses. His hand is throbbing with pain, and he's positive he must have broken a knuckle, or at least cracked or fractured something. It's starting to swell. He ignores it. "You're crossing the line, Kurt."

Kurt's eyelids lower slightly. "Is that so? I thought the line was _here,_" he says, going under Dave's letterman jacket to draw a line with one finger across the bottom of Dave's stomach, over his shirt. He can feel Dave start to tremble, and for the briefest of moments, Dave's gaze softens and he nearly leans in to the touch.

But soon, Dave is backing away. "Don't test me," Dave growls darkly. "And get _away_."

"That's all you ever seem to do," Kurt retorts, and he can almost feel tears sting his eyes. "You keep away, always distancing yourself from me, making excuses not to touch me whenever your pals bully me. You never stand up for me like you used to, and you always make sure not to so much as brush past me in the halls. What's your deal, Dave? Why can't you bring yourself to admit that you never forgot? That you still _want _me, as a friend or otherwise?"

And Dave can't take this, he really can't. Without another word, Dave ducks around Kurt and hurries out the locker room doors. Blaming Kurt for everything and getting away with it hadn't quite gone according to plan. In fact, it blew up in his face, and now as he's rushing to the nurse's, hoping she's there, all he can think about is how close he can come to punching Kurt instead of that locker, and how sick it makes him feel to know that at the same time, all he had wanted to do was confirm Kurt's accusations by kissing him.


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2._

Dave returns to school with a splint around his middle and ring fingers; metal, with blue foamy, spongy material around the digits, and medical tape wrapped around it to keep it sandwiched together. He can't play any of his hands-on sports for two weeks, until his fingers are perfectly mended again. And it sucks, because hockey and football are the only things that keep Dave mostly sane, since they relieve all of his tension.

Now what is he going to do?

It pisses him off, actually. Life is never fair for David Karofsky, it seems. And he fucking _hates_ that fact. Why can't things be the way they used to, surrounded in childhood bliss? Why can't he go back to the days when sports didn't matter, name-calling was easily dusted off his shoulders, and he was still able to look Kurt in the eye and touch him and _be his friend, _free of ridicule?

Dave groans to himself, putting his face in his hands where he sits at his desk in the back of the room. How he wishes he could go back and time and change things: never become friends with Azimio; never listen to his mother or take any heed of her speeches; never leave Kurt's side…

It pains him in ways no one can see or know whenever he has to endure watching Kurt get harassed. Dave had said once that hearing people call Kurt names would make him 'so mad and so sad' and it's still true. He grinds his teeth and stands back and clenches his fists each and every time. But can he do anything?

No, he can't, because he's a fucking weak _coward_ who should just learn to keep out of everything and _disappear._

Sighing, Dave gets up out of his seat and doesn't say a word to the teacher, even when they ask him what he's doing and where he's going and even threatens to give him a detention. So what? It's not like Dave has ever cared much about high school anyway. He stopped getting good grades the year he chose to leave Kurt behind.

Dave's heart clenches in his chest. He's such a fuck-up for that.

But Kurt had reached out to him again, even after all these years. Maybe there was hope yet. Maybe… if Dave just _changed…_

No, Dave assured himself. He shook his head. He couldn't do it. He had to be the all-American heterosexual young man his mommy wants him to be. The all-American heterosexual jock his "friends" want him to be.

Because if he doesn't, what would his life be? This is all he's known for years…

But he's known Kurt longer. So why does he resist?

Dave doesn't know. He doesn't want to figure it out. It crushes him to do so.

Meanwhile, Kurt is fuming, snapping at his friends and then apologizing constantly, because he can't stop thinking about how, for a split second, he saw the old Dave again, the one that gazed down at him with so much love and care.

Kurt wanted the old Dave back.

And suddenly, his mood brightened from pissy to cheerful as an idea occurs to him, and when Mercedes questions why he's grinning, he replies simply, "Oh, nothing. I just love my brain sometimes, that's all."

Kurt decides to worm his way back into Dave's life. It'll help them both in the end, and Kurt knows it. A little seduction is going to assist Kurt, too. Just the usual stuff: dancing, singing, wriggling his hips and wearing tight clothes. Kurt knows it'll work. It just _has_ to. After seeing it once again after so long… Kurt realizes precisely how much he craves seeing Dave look at him – and only him – like that.


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3._

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…!" Kurt nearly screams. "Are you _insane, _Karofsky? Why didn't you look where you were going?"

And this is _not_ what Kurt had in mind when he chose to get back into Dave's life.

Because Dave had been stupid and no looked where he'd been going, and Kurt had started to back out of the parking lot, but Dave just had to come out of nowhere on a skateboard and zoom right behind Kurt's car in his blind spot, ultimately getting hit, rolling over the trunk before sliding across the asphalt until his hand and ass got scraped up, the centripetal force somehow enough to tear Dave's sweatpants and grind pebbles into his skin, tearing it open.

"Fuuuuuuuck! That fucking _stings _like a sonuva bitch!" Dave shouts, and almost no one is in the parking lot anymore, and Kurt is panicking.

"Shit, you need to get the rocks out, and stop the bleeding, and –"

"Then _do_ something about it, Hummel! Don't just stand there staring!" Dave grunts as he heaves himself to his feet, limping. "Get back in the damn car," he hisses between clenched teeth. "And take me to your house. It's closer than mine or the hospital."

And he's right, so without thinking any further, Kurt slides back into his ajar door and buckles himself in while Dave stumbles into the passenger seat, leaning on one side where he hadn't landed and skid.

"How fucking fast were you pulling out that you didn't fucking _see _me?"

"Well, how fast were you skating that you didn't see _me?"_ Kurt retorts hotly as he races out of the parking lot and wheels down the street.

"Uhg! It doesn't matter!" Dave curses. "But this is the second time I got hurt because of you, Hummel!"

"Hey, the first time wasn't even my fault, you did that yourself! And besides, maybe this is karma's way of slapping you back to your senses, since you refuse to see things clearly."

"And how's that?" Dave grinds out lowly.

Kurt sighs through his nose. Quieter, he mutters, "You seem to fail to realize how much you miss me."

Dave rolls his eyes. "This again? I told you, we're done with that. I grew up. You grew up."

Childishly, Kurt murmurs without any anger this time, "But you _promised _me that we'd stay friends."

Dave is about to reply, but he cuts himself off before he can utter a sound. His mouth closes. He turns his head and peers out the window, his hand and ass and part of his side aching and stinging and burning. Kurt's right. Karma is smacking Dave because Dave won't cease the abuse directed Kurt's way, won't be a man and own up to his true self.

He shakes his head. With a passive voice, he mumbles, "Promises aren't always meant to be kept."

"That one was," Kurt whispers. He pulls into his driveway. Louder, he says with a flat expression, "Hurry up and get inside. We have to tend to your wounds."

Dave obeys, and the next thing he knows, his hand is all gauzed up below his splint and his shirt is off and his pants, too, and he's wearing a towel and lying on Kurt's bed, pretending that this isn't intimate as Kurt uses tweezers soaked in hydrogen peroxide to pluck out the gravel after the wounds had been cleaned with water.

"Ouch, dammit! Can't you hear me say, 'ouch'?" Dave shouts.

"Shut up. This isn't easy. Your ribs look bruised and there are chunks of asphalt under your _skin._ So suck it up and let me work, you big baby," Kurt grumbles as he makes his way down Dave's back and over one cheek of his rear to pluck out all of the gravel. He acts like he doesn't want to run his ands over the expanse of skin, doesn't want to make Dave forget the sting of scraped skin by instead making him moan Kurt's name –

The singer shakes his head disapprovingly at himself. He instead focuses on his job. He cleans the wounds, patches them up, and soon, Dave is standing again, examining himself briefly in the mirror before moving to the bathroom to get his clothes back on.

But Dave walks out of the bathroom, holding up his clothes. "I can't fucking wear these! They're soaked with dirty slush and there are holes everywhere."

Kurt shrugs. "You can borrow my dad's clothes."

"That's awkward."

"It's the only option you have," Kurt reminds icily. He takes a step closer. "Unless you want to walk around outside completely naked."

Dave narrows his eyes. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? In fact, I'm starting to wonder if you _hit me on purpose _just so you could _touch my ass._"

Kurt makes a scoffing sound. "Like hell I did! It was an accident and you know it, and as for touching you…" He smirks. "I was only doing what you _asked._ But maybe you didn't notice, but I crossed 'the line.'"

Dave visibly turns to stone. He stands there, dropping his clothes as his hands grip the towel around his waist. "Don't, Kurt. Don't go there."

"No, I think I need to," Kurt utters lowly, cautiously. "I still remember, Dave. And I guess it didn't matter to you, but it was special for me. You were my first kiss. You gave me my first orgasm. You were everything to me then, _David_."

And Kurt doesn't miss the way Dave flinches, wincing at the word 'orgasm' and shuddering when Kurt says his full name. "Please, Kurt. If you know what's good for you, you'll shut the fuck up right now."

But there isn't any real threat in Dave's eyes, so Kurt ignores it when he hear it tinge the edges of Dave's voice. He steps closer again. He's inches from Dave. "Where's the line now, Dave, years later? Is it still here?" And Kurt traces Dave's bare stomach, right below his belly button, watching as Dave's face loses some of its hardness. "So… if it is… that means I can touch you here?" And Kurt brings a hand up to place against one of Dave's pectorals, his pointer finger lying over Dave's collarbone, stroking idly. "Or… here?" He says softer, and drags his knuckles and the backs of his fingers down the center of Dave's abdominals, hidden by a thin layer of fat, but still hard beneath.

Dave is quaking where he stands, swallowing his desire and staring Kurt down. "_Don't,_ Kurt. I mean it."

"I don't think you do," Kurt retorts. "I don't think you _ever _meant it. This whole war between our kinds, or at least the war between the labels others have slapped onto us… I don't think your heart is in it at all. I think your heart is still here," and he taps Dave's sternum, feeling the organ pound under his finger, beneath the bone, between the slowly quickening lungs. "With mine."

Dave refrains from reacting. He closes his eyes tightly, not wanting to continue seeing the intense, determined, moving gaze directed at him. Not with Kurt's face attached. Not when Dave is so close to caving in and kissing the boy in front of him.

Kurt leans in, his mouth a breath away. "Say it, Karofsky. Say that you want me."

At his sides, Dave's hands fall from the towel and the fingers that aren't bandaged twitch in the air. Opening his eyes, Dave looks down directly into Kurt's blue orbs. He rushes forward, pinning Kurt against the wall of the hallway. He pressed his lips aggressively to Kurt's neck, his teeth grazing the skin. "And what if I said that I wanted you, huh? What would happen then?"

Kurt uses a hand to tug back Dave's head, his fingers nestled in Dave's hair. "Things can be right again," he informs quietly. He releases Dave's head and holds him with his gaze. "I'll help you fix what you've broken, in order: my heart, your rightful social status, and the war between the jocks and the gleeks. Just three words, and you can have me as a friend again, or as a lover, and I'll gladly accept and forgive."

Dave's brows lift for a second. "That so? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Then…" Dave murmurs, placing one hand on the wall and leaning in. He says against Kurt's lips, "I want you."

And just like that, he's attacking Kurt's mouth and Kurt is hungrily, viciously returning the kiss, his hands wandering Dave's body, ever mindful of his scattered bandages. Dave moans, and Kurt presses closer, hands trailing down Dave's front. Dave pins one leg to the wall, trapping Kurt beneath him, their pelvises nearly touching. Kurt shuts the gap, his hips jerking forward as his tongue dips into Dave's mouth with more vigor. Dave moans again, muffled but loud, and grips Kurt tightly against him.

They part for air, panting, and as Dave descends down Kurt's throat and peels off his shirt, Kurt is moaning in between pants, "I've missed you so much… Used to… lie awake, remembering you… Go to school every day, wishing… praying, even… that you'd come back to me."

And he's rambling again, spilling out secrets just like he did when Dave touched him when they were younger. But Dave doesn't want Kurt to be the only one pouring his heart out. Dave confesses between suckles and kisses, "I… used to convince myself that it never happened, that I didn't… need you so damn much… but _fuck,_ Kurt… you were my whole world for _years,_ and I haven't forgotten. I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry, I could fucking _die."_

Kurt whimpers and starts grinding against the spot of warmth he can feel through Dave's towel, the only thing covering him up. But Kurt doesn't want it there. He wants to cross the line again, wants to feel Dave in his hands, feel what he does to the poor, confused jock –

"_Kurt,_" Dave breathes, "When is your old man supposed to be home?"

"Nnhg… not until… later…" Kurt pants, his arms wrapping around Dave. "Please, Dave. Touch me again, like you did when we were younger. I need to feel it again, to make sure this is real."

And it sounds so pathetic and uncharacteristic compared to Kurt's usual diva-like confidence that Dave realizes how vulnerable he makes Kurt, always has, and how much he wants to do precisely that.

"Okay," he tells the shorter male, and spins Kurt around, unbuttoning his skinny jeans from an easier position before shrugging them down and reaching into the confines of Kurt's boxer-briefs. Kurt sputters something incoherent. He bucks forward when Dave finds his stiff member, so much larger than he remembers because of the years of growth between. But it feels just as good as he remembers it: hot and tender-but-hard, and this time, leaking pre-come, making it feel slick in his hands.

Dave moans under his breath at the sensation and starts moving his fist coiled around Kurt's shaft, pumping and teasing and thumbing the slit at the top. Kurt whines, sinking back against Dave's chest, one of his hands gripping the back of Dave's thigh for support, skimming skin beneath the towel.

It doesn't take long for Kurt to burst, his entire body shivering delightfully against Dave, and the meatier boy can't help but feel a little smug and a little satisfied that once again, he's reduced confident Kurt Hummel to a puddle of boneless mush.

Kurt falls backward against his recently re-obtained friend and is caught easily. Dave kisses the back of Kurt's neck and turns him around to lazily kiss at his mouth. Kurt clings to him, his slim fingers reaching under the towel as if it were a skirt. Dave gasps when Kurt finds his arousal and starts to return the favor.

"K-Kurt, you –"

"Shh," Kurt whispers. "You'll ruin it." And he slinks downward, kissing along Dave's stomach as the towel drops to the floor. Kurt is on his knees, and holy crap, Dave know what that means. He backs up, starting to cover himself. But Kurt drags him back, muttering assurances until his lips are around the tip of Dave's length, and Dave can no longer think.

Kurt's mouth is far too talented, probably because he'd been unknowingly practicing with lollipops and Popsicles for years.

Dave can't control himself. He doesn't look at Kurt when the boy every so often peers upward, and he can't stop his hands from going up to his head and tugging, because Dave is trying his hardest not to grip Kurt's head instead and thrust, because it feels so damn wonderful. Kurt is licking up the main vein and swirling his lips and tongue around the head and letting his teeth gently brush the base and over the slit in a way that shouldn't feel so icily, painfully blissful, and yet _does._

And then Dave has to bite his hand to keep from crying out when Kurt takes as much of Dave has he can into his mouth, bobbing and shaking his head, _deep-throating _him.

Dave comes hard and fast, and Kurt pulls away, using a hand to milk Dave of his seed and help him ride out his orgasm. And Dave is _wailing_ in a soft tenor that Kurt didn't know Dave possessed, and vaguely Kurt wonders if this means Dave can sing as well, which is an odd thing to think, yet Kurt does anyhow.

And when they're both spent and standing there silently in the hallway, Kurt slips into Dave's arms effortlessly, fitting as if he belonged there (which he does, he knows); and Dave returns the embrace just as passionately.

They stand like that for a while, their heart rates and breathing returning to normal as their bodies cool down to relatively normal temperatures.

"So… this mends everything?" Dave murmurs into Kurt's ear.

"It's a start," Kurt replies. "Now… let's get you some clothes. I'll call my dad and tell him that we'll be having a guest for dinner. He won't mind that it's you; you used to practically live here, and he's been asking for a while now why he doesn't see you around anymore. He'll be happy to see you. We'll have to explain that you're wearing his clothes because I hit you with my car, though." He adds with a small smile.

Dave laughs softly. "Yeah. That might help make things less awkward," he says sarcastically.

"Like I said," Kurt teases, "It's a start."


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4._

Dave uses the bullying powers of his alter-ego Karofsky to scare the jocks into leaving the gleeks alone, since the singers never really did anything wrong. He pounded it into the other bullies' heads that singing as well as the club members do takes guts and talent, and that the jocks should just learn to stop being such assholes.

It works. The war on that end is mended, because Azimio (and most of the other jocks) gets huffy and stops talking to Dave entirely, which suits Dave just fine. And it takes them a little while, but the glee members warm up to the new Karofsky for being their protector instead of their tormentor.

Weeks fly by. Spring break rolls by. Dave visits Kurt nearly every day of the break, laughing it up with Burt and then secretly sneaking off to kiss Kurt senseless, groping idly, because it feels too damn good to ignore.

And when summer comes along, Dave wakes up one morning to find his life in shambles, because somehow, someway, someone found out about his reasoning behind all of his changes, and he finds that his parents were informed.

There's yelling, gratuitous amounts of it, and it slaps Dave across the face like a whip, making his skin feel split and open and bleeding and stinging, even though there isn't a whip there at all, only tears sliding down his face.

He yells back, angrily, at his so-called parental figures, shouting at the top of his lungs that they never cared about him anyway, not since he hit puberty, not since he stopped being their adorable little angel and turned into the seemingly indifferent athlete they've come to know. And he hates how his father is so damn calm, grinding out words between clenched teeth; and he hates how his mother is shrieking, red-faced, calling Dave a disgrace to God, and watching as her husband doesn't back her up, only seem to continue to ridicule Dave for lying to them and not telling them sooner and for forcing out his conflictions on others.

Dave shakes his head, fuming silently, not sure which is worse. His father, at least, seems relatively tolerant of Dave's homosexuality. As Dave's mother storms out of the room, Dave collapses on a chair and buries his face in his hands.

"David," his father addresses sternly, "Tell me why, or when. Tell me how it came down to this, a friend of yours coming to us about an issue and you saying flat out, 'Yes, it's true, I'm a fag.' It doesn't make sense, son. Your mother… she's upset because she hadn't expected this, hadn't seen it coming. I can't say I have, either. You aren't what either of us would expect; you never showed signs that you preferred boys to girls; you've dated girls, you hated girly things your entire childhood, and you're a man through and through."

And in Paul Karofsky's world, everything has to make sense. But in Dave Karofsky's world, nothing ever _has _made sense. Dave sighs and scrubs his face with his palms before smoothing the muscles and dropping his hands to dangle in the air in the space between his widespread knees. "I don't know, Dad. Okay? I really don't know. I don't know which friend of mine told you – although I bet it was Azimio who figured it out and ratted me out, that bastard; some friend he is – and as for when or why…" He shakes his head, a misplaced, lopsided smile briefly reaching his lips as he takes a quick glance at his father. "It's been this way for as long as I can remember. And it's all because of one guy. I…" He swallows hard, his voice growing tense, defensive. "I really like him. He's my everything."

Paul stands and gives a curt, understanding nod. "If that's how you feel, David, I can't do anything about it. I'm not you. I'm not in your head, and I can't control what you do or choose to do in life. But you're my son, and even if I can honestly say I detest the idea of you going against the solidly Biblical morals we raised you to have, I can't say I don't still love you, because I do. But if you'll excuse me, I have to calm down your mother."

And he exits the room, leaving Dave to sit there in the living room armchair, left at a complete loss for words.

Dave gets up from the chair after some time, choosing to slide on his shoes and leave the house. He doesn't like hearing his parents murmurs wafting from their closed bedroom door, and he certainly doesn't like being confined to the household in anxious tension for what his mother will say to him. So, instead, he paces right out the front door without glancing back.

And he gets in his car, and he pulls out of the driveway, and he heads over to the only other home he has.


	6. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5._

Kurt opens the door and without a single word of inquiry, takes the hug that Dave gives him. He rubs Dave's back in small circles, feeling the weight of the slightly taller boy, as well as feeling his despair.

"You look awful, Dave," Kurt whispers as he leads his lover over to the sofa. He takes Dave's hand and gives it a squeeze. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dave shakes his head fiercely. "No," he mutters coldly. He sighs with a ragged breath and heaves his shoulders. He then falls backward onto the support of the couch and closes his suddenly sleepy eyes. "I just wanted to be away from them both."

"You can tell me what happened later," Kurt nods, knowing full well who Dave is referring to. He scoots until their thighs touch and proceeds to rest his head on Dave's chest, his hand curling up in Dave's shirt on his side. "But for right now, I can tell that you need me."

Dave doesn't so much as nod or open his eyes, but Kurt can tell that Dave isn't denying this fact. In place of a response to his clearly stated desperation, Dave remarks, "Your house is quiet. Is no one home?"

Kurt shakes his head against the warmth of Dave's torso. It feels so nice compared to the slight chill of the air conditioning. "Dad's at the shop, working, and while it's true Finn's mom and my dad started dating after they met at the grocery store that one time, it's not like they're living with us just yet. There has been talk, however. And I think it'd be nice to have a step-brother."

"As long as he doesn't try to steal you away from me, I'm cool with another guy living here," Dave retorts with a sarcastic smile.

Kurt chuckles to himself. "There's nothing to worry about. Finn is straight and going out with Rachel Berry, remember? And besides, I don't like him that way. I've only ever liked you."

And there's something smugly satisfying and strangely comforting about that statement, and it enabled Dave to relax. He opens his eyes and brings up a hand to scan the length of Kurt's back. He then rests his hand on Kurt's shoulder. "I told that to my parents today. – To my dad, at least. When he asked me why I was gay, I said it was because I've always been this way, and all because I couldn't stop myself from wanting one person."

"Me?" Kurt whispers, stating the obvious.

Dave nods. "Yeah… you. I don't know if it means I love you or something, but I do know that I've always kept you in mind, always desired you, always held myself back around you; when we were kids and when we were in school. I mean, if I didn't find other guys pretty hot as well, I might not even call myself homosexual. I might just call myself _Hummel_sexual." And he smirks at his own pun, and the smirk spreads into a grin as he hears Kurt laughing in response, and notes how the boy's face flushes the tiniest bit.

"That's so sweet. Who would've thought your pea brain could come up with something like that?" Kurt teases, and trails his hands in a semi-swirling pattern down Dave's stomach, making the meatier boy tremble.

"Y-yeah, who knew?" Dave teases right back, but he's at a loss for many words when his stomach churns and his heart flutters at the sensation of Kurt's hands weaving over his shirt, lower and lower. He gulps, temporarily closing his eyes, when Kurt's hands glides over the front of Dave's jeans and cups his crotch, squeezing gently.

And then the warmth of that hand disappears, and Dave's eyes pop back open. Kurt peers up through his lashes and poses softly, "What did you want from me when you came here? There must be more of a reason than simply being away from your parents. You could have gone anywhere for that."

"Acceptance," Dave answers automatically. "Distraction."

"Hmm," Kurt hums thoughtfully, moving to straddle Dave's lap. He places his forearms on Dave's shoulders and looks directly into his eyes. "I can provide both."

"I knew you could," Dave mutters under his breath as he draws Kurt closer. He kisses him, long and slow, and feels as Kurt's tongue slips past Dave's lips. He plays along wholeheartedly, his tongue dancing with Kurt's in their mouths, starting off romantic before turning a little rough, a little needy, in seconds.

It took some time for Kurt to help erase Dave's memory of his parents' disappointment in him. It took a bit of touching, a bit of licking, and a bit of reciprocating until they were both panting and clinging to each other in the shaky afterglow for Dave to be solidly distracted, utterly accepted. He knows, now, that at least one person will never abandon him, one person never gave up on him, and one person can help him get through everything. At least, Dave figures, he has this one other person, this other solider from the war of life, who'll stick by him and love him.

One person by the name of Kurt Hummel, to whom Dave hopes he can give all that he was given, and more.

((... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...End.))


End file.
